


On The Scent

by Loremaiden



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Abduction, Community: watsons_woes, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loremaiden/pseuds/Loremaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sleuth-hounds at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to JWP #30 (Mirror, Mirror) on Watson's Woes.
> 
> Mirror, Mirror: Write a story from a minor character's point of view, where he or she sees something similar between him/herself and Sherlock Holmes.

I smell Old Man Sherman before I hear him chattering away to the consulting detective while they make their way towards my cozy little flat. The door is barely open before I rush to meet my favorite client.

I often joke with my colleagues in the office that he is my best customer because he pays me well for my services in delicious bits of beef. But the real reason why I enjoy working with this man is because we share one important thing in common.

We both love the thrill of tracking, of seizing a thread and pursuing it come what may until we have the answer and our curiosity is satisfied. Nothing puts a spring in our steps faster than the excitement of the hunt. I have heard other humans calling him a sleuth-hound, and I agree with the assessment. He would make an excellent dog--with the proper training of course; he smells but he does not truly _scent_. Ah well, nobody's perfect.

As I cheerfully greet my friend, however, I notice something's off. There are still the traces of tobacco and newspaper ink and brilliantine that always mark my partner's distinct aroma, but behind those familiar odors is a scent I have not smelled from him before.

He reeks of _fear_.

That's when my brain catches up to my nose. Where is my partner's partner, the kindly doctor? He almost always accompanies us when we're working a case.

My wagging tail stills when my friend kneels down to my level and pulls out the sample of what we are tracking today. It is the doctor's handkerchief, make no mistake. I would recognize that mix of soap, medicine, and Ship's anywhere. But there is now an ugly stain upon the white cotton with a sharp tang of rust and salt and metal--blood. And there are additional stenches that make my ears stand up in anger--chloroform and rope.

I cannot help it; my hackles rise and I start to bark, cursing the bastards that dare to hurt the friend of my friend.

Sherman harshly chastises me for yapping, but my associate chastises him in turn with a bark that would make a bullmastiff quake in his paws.

Sounds like we have another thing in common—both of us are worried sick for the doctor.

My confederate calms us both down by taking a deep breath, forcing his anxiety to take a backseat to the task at hand. We'll need clear heads in order to succeed in our mission. He strokes my neck and murmurs low by my loppy right ear, though I know he's talking more to himself than to me. "We must find him, Toby."

I nuzzle the cheek of his bowed head in sympathy and encouragement before I take another whiff of the handkerchief. I begin my assignment in earnest as I bolt out of the building, my peer quickly following close behind.

Us sleuth-hounds have a friend to rescue.


End file.
